Slaves to a Gun

Slaves to a gun:
Rips up my insides but outside I’m still.
Slaves to a gun:
A uniform don’t make you more but gun lets you kill.
Slaves to a gun:
Pointed at my head, our heads, we’re dead ‘less you choose.
Slaves to a gun:
Power papered over,
Put on pause for money orders,
Politicin’ proppin’ up an image,
Paralyzed and pressure’s buildin’,
Killin’ ourselves, women, blacks, and children—
Police or mental patient, easy guns mean we lose.

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